


Just Enough Hope

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: 1.01/7.23, Angst, But not an episode tag, Episode Tag, Gen, Major Character Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: He hopes for a lot of things: that he didn’t make a mistake taking on this taskforce, that the ache he’s feeling in his soul will go away, that he can sleep at night without seeing his best friend being ripped to shreds by bullets, without remembering he left him behind for nothing, or hear a gunshot killing his father over a bad sat connection and he just hopes he wakes up one day without a scream dying in his throat.





	Just Enough Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Watching epsiode 7.23 brought me back to this thing I was trying to write about Steve post 1.01, and through season 1. It never went anywhere, but the first bit I quite like, so here it is, as a look back into the past, with added Steve whump, post fight on the freighter.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Starts right after the end of the scene on the freighter.

* * *

 

He’s coherent and on his feet until the adrenaline starts to fade, which happens just after he joins Williams on the lower deck. He stumbles and it’s as if somebody’s cut his string all of a sudden. The world tilts sickeningly and a wave of pain hits him full force, flooding him and burning bright in his shoulder, his head throbbing viciously. He throws an arm out, feeling off balance and Danny catches him as his legs buckle, sitting him up against a container. He draws his knees up and closes his eyes.

“You hit?”

“Shoulder,” he says, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. He hisses, the movement pulling at the bullet wound. It _hurts_ , from his neck to his fingers and through his back. He knows he hasn’t broken any bones but maybe the bullet’s still in there. He grits his teeth against a sudden urge to puke, swallowing heavily.

“I need a medic!” Danny hollers right beside him. He winces, the loud call making his head pound and the world warp, even behind his closed lids.

“You took a few good hits to the head too by the looks of it,” Danny says, grabbing his chin and turning his head to inspect the cut that’s bleeding into his eyes. The world tilts suddenly with the movement and he groans with the overwhelming dizziness.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. God, he’s tired. He tries to remember the last time he slept but he fails. Korea? Before?

“Yo, you still here, McGarrett?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Somehow, Williams doesn’t seem convinced.  “What day is this?” the blond man asks.

“Huh?”

“That’s what I thought. Hey MEDIC! Over here!” Danny shouts.

“Jesus. You never shut up, do you?” he mutters.

Danny laughs, and he doesn’t understand.

 

* * *

 

He lets the paramedics lay him on a gurney, feeling woozy and lightheaded, pain radiating everywhere. His shoulder’s the worst of it but the pain in his head makes it hard to focus and he feels sick and dizzy, pretty certain that kick to the head gave him a concussion. He blinks but the world is going gray, colors leeching out like maybe it’s going to rain. He isn’t sure.

Danny tells him he’ll take care of the scene and he nods, eyes closed. He hears the detective’s footsteps fade away a few seconds later and he just wants everything to stay still and stop spinning. The EMT tells him they’re taking him to Tripler and the gurney starts to move. He feels his body sink into the thin mattress and the spinning sensation grows. He groans in pain as the motion jostles his shoulder, blackness bleeding into the edges of his vision, blocking out the gray. Someone calls his name but he can’t answer, can’t-

 

Reality returns in a jumble if disconnected flashes, images and sensations until awareness slams back into him and he sits bold upright with a gasp and a curse, hands all over him, holding him. There’s ropes around him, wires, needles, a harsh light above… He has to get away, it isn’t safe here...

“ _Manjiji masipsio!”_ he snaps in Korean. “ _Manjiji masipsio!”_

“Easy Commander. You’re at Tripler.”

He exhales sharply and blinks, trying to make sense of the words. He fights to get up, hissing at the flare of pain in his shoulder, memories of the last few days coming back to him slowly with the returning awareness of where he is (hospital. Home. Hawaii. _Safe_ ), the jungle green in his mind’s eye fading.

This is Hawaii, not South (or North) Korea. Freddie’s dead, his father is too (shot in the head, blood all over the den, brain matter splattered on the walls, can’t- don’t think about it-).

Hesse. The governor. The taskforce. Williams, Kelly and his rookie cousin; Kono. All of a sudden, the pain’s everywhere, inside and out, so much he doesn’t know what to do with it. He groans, the room suddenly tilting and spinning around him. He grits his teeth against a strong surge of nausea. He can’t-

“Sick…” he breathes out a second before his stomach rebels.

A nurse shoves a basin under his chin, her cold hand a shock against the back of his neck as he retches helplessly, bile burning his throat.

He can’t help the cry of pain that escapes him as his whole body jerks forward with the heaves twisting his innards.

He spits out the remnants from his mouth, panting and groaning, his shoulder on fire, the pounding in his head threatening to send him back into the darkness.

“Lie back, sir. Please? It’ll ease the pain,” the kind, soft-spoken nurse tells him, offering him a damp washcloth to wipe his chin.

“Yeah,” he huffs and lets the hands guide him back down, the pain and nausea easing somewhat. He tries to listen when they tell him about how he passed out from the shock, a concussion and dehydration and, possibly, exhaustion.

He wills himself to relax. He’s fine. He’s _fine. Safe._

He grinds his teeth through the neuro check and he’s glad when they tell him they’ll give him some morphine and something for the nausea so he’ll be comfortable till it’s time for surgery.

“Surgery? What- Why?” he says thickly, the deep, pulsing ache in his head making it impossible to think straight.

“To remove the bullet in your shoulder and repair the damage it did.”

“Okay.” He feels the drugs hit his blood and the tension in his body drains away as the pain melts away.  He closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

They keep him overnight and he sleeps like the dead with the lingering anesthetic and the painkillers they fill him with. He gets woken up by the surgeon who fixed his shoulder at the crack of dawn and he’s with it enough to stop the urge to grab onto the hand on his arm and twist it before he’s even fully awake. The short of it is, he was lucky and he’ll be fine in a few weeks’ time.

He dozes until the neurologist comes and clears him, with orders to rest for at least a week. He’s not usually one to stay still but… he needs a break, if he’s honest with himself. He could use the time to officially transfer into the reserves, get his things shipped and… clean up his father’s house. His house. Mary. He has to- The estate. He needs to-.

He draws in a sharp breath through his nose. _Focus._

He’s standing on the sidewalk a few minutes later, head aching and still tired but he doesn’t feel like going home, doesn’t want to face the blood, the smell of death. He hails a cab and heads for Pearl and his quarters in the VOQ. He changes, swallows the painkillers the hospital pharmacy left him and heads back to Honolulu. He has a couple things he needs to get done.

\----

He shows up at the Iolani Palace just as the sun begins to set, gift card for Williams tucked in his sling. His new Silverado will be ready in a couple days and by then, he’ll be able to drive. He digs in his pocket for the painkillers as his shoulder throbs mercilessly, the headache from the concussion pounding at his temples, swallowing a couple pills with water from a fountain at the entrance of their new offices.

He shows up in Williams’ office and they manage some sort of truce and he’s beginning to think that his assessment about Danny never shutting up yesterday was more like stating the obvious. The man likes to complain, argue and talk with his hands in a way that makes Steve itch. He’d never make it as an operator; he’d wind up dead just because he can’t sit still and shut up. Somehow, it makes him smile, makes him think of Freddie. Another loudmouth. Maybe he and Williams will get along great once they get to know each other better.

He hopes.

As Chin Ho offers him a beer (which he never thinks about turning down, painkillers or not), he hopes for a lot of things: that he didn’t make a mistake taking on this taskforce, that the ache he’s feeling in his soul will go away, that he can sleep at night without seeing his best friend being ripped to shreds by bullets, without remembering he left him behind for _nothing_ , or hear a gunshot killing his father over a bad sat connection and he just hopes he wakes up one day without a scream dying in his throat.

He drinks more than he should but he can’t make himself care. He’s too worn out, too raw, too hurt. He feels the alcohol hit his blood, feels it loosening his muscles and he relaxes, laughs with his new team as the sun sets over O’ahu.

He doesn’t quite know how he ends up sitting on the floor and he doesn’t care. He knows he’s drunk; the room is spinning around him and he feels heavy and the words that make it out of his mouth aren’t what he’s trying to say but he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t have to, for once. He’s… tired. He’s not... The pain’s gone, inside and out and... He’s tired. He lets go and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Kono’s been gone for about twenty minutes when McGarrett tries to stand and ends up sprawled on the floor.

Danny’s kinda concerned, with the guy’s arm being in a sling and all but he seems fine, if completely wasted after three beers. He figures he’s got a low tolerance after months deployed God knows where with no booze. He’s probably on some pretty strong painkillers for that shoulder wound too.

Still, it’s kinda funny to watch Mr Ninja-SEAL-Freak flounder on the floor like a beached whale. He gets himself sitting up against the desk, mumbling something Danny can’t understand.

“He always such a lightweight?” he asks Chin Ho.

“No clue. After his mother died, his father shipped him off to military school on the mainland. He was barely sixteen back then.”

“Wow. I think I understand him a little better, all of a sudden. How’d his mother die?” he asks, as he watches McGarrett fall asleep.

“Drunk driver. Pretty much killed John’s heart too.”

“I bet. I mean, can’t fault the guy for being exhausted. Last couple days have been pretty rough, on him, losing his dad, getting his ass kicked six ways to next Tuesday…”

“You know where he was deployed?”

Danny shakes his head. “No. They wouldn’t tell me.”

He watches as McGarrett starts to slide sideways and fall over to his side, only the guy doesn’t wake up when he hits the floor.

“Um… You think maybe we should, I dunno, get him home, maybe? You know where he’s staying?”

“Don’t know. We should wake him up, though.”

They share a chuckle and the stand, both making their way to the prone man that’s supposed to be their new boss. Danny’s not too concerned about waking up the military man; he’s too drunk to be any threat, especially with an arm in a sling. Still, he pokes McGarrett in the thigh with his foot.

He barely gets a grunt in response.

“I guess we should move him to that new sofa in his office,” Danny says with a sigh.

“I guess we should.”

It takes them about fifteen minutes to get the man situated on said sofa and another ten to find a bottle of water and a trash bin, and just in time too. Danny tells Kelly to go, that he’ll stay a while, make sure McGarrett’s all right, as partners do for each other, and since McGarrett’s co-opted him, well…

“Mahalo, Danny. I’ll talk to Kono. I’ll have her send HPD crime scene clean-up get the McGarrett house in order, yeah? He’s got enough to deal with," Kelly tells him.

Danny nods. “Good idea. And maybe… Maybe some flowers or something? I mean, the man did lose his dad.”

Chin Ho nods and somehow Danny feels he’s just made another friend who likes Hawaiian shirts as much as Meka does.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up on the sofa in his new office, a sour-smelling trashcan by his face and a bottle of water on the floor beside it. He has no memory of how he got here but if the headache and the bitter taste of bile lingering in his mouth are any indication, he made a spectacular ass of himself in front of his new team.

He groans as he lifts his head up, the pounding in his skull eclipsed by the searing fire in his injured shoulder. By the light, he can tell it’s probably close to noon.

Something flutters to the floor from somewhere above his head as he moves and he has to struggle a bit to get his good arm free from where Williams tucked it under his body (he somehow knows it was Williams) so he wouldn’t fall off the couch or choke on his own vomit.

He grabs the thin piece of paper and blinks the gunk out of his eyes until he can read the messy scrawl.

 _Call me when you’re conscious._  
Danny  
808-555-5868

He groans again and lets the note drop into the trash. He knows Williams’ number well enough. He sits up, waits out a rush of nauseating vertigo (you will _not_ puke. Suck it up.), stands and heads for the nearest men’s room. He splashes water on his face, swills some around his teeth, spits and drinks a few sips, before looking up at his reflection.

He looks like shit and there are what are probably puke stains on his shirt.

His shoulder is pulsing with pain and his watch confirms it’s almost one P.M.. It explains why he’s hurting so much. His last dose of pain meds was over eighteen hours ago. He groans and lets his chin drop to his chest, hissing when the motion pulls at the injured muscles in his shoulder and cracked collarbone.

He wants nothing more than to swallow a couple Percocet and to sleep for another week.

What he does is call Williams, has him drive him to the VOQ so he can shower and change. He takes out the Percocet again, frowns, shoves it back in his pocket and digs out the ibuprofen instead. He swallows the capsules and heads back out as soon as he’s showered and put on clean clothes. He needs to get the house in order and he needs to find his father’s will. He has an appointment with the attorney handling the estate tomorrow morning and he wants to know what he’s getting into. He still hasn’t been able to reach his sister.

When he shows up at the house, he immediately notices the crime scene tape gone.

He opens the front door and all the material from the op is also gone. The living room is neat, clean-

He stops, stills.

The blood’s gone.

The study is pristine, except for a bouquet of birds of paradise sitting on his father’s desk.

He walks slowly up to the vase and takes the card in his good hand, turning it over slowly.

_Palapala hoʻālohaloha  
Our thoughts are with you._

He can’t make out the signatures, other than a D, a W, two K’s and a flowing CHKelly.

He walks back to the old, worn sofa and sits, turning the card over and over in his hands.

It’s just enough; enough to give life to that tiny spark of hope and home.

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my 7 year-coming Pilot Whumy episode tag. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
> 
> On another note, Chapter 5 of Ho'omaika'i is coming along, as are tags for 7.18 and 7.22. I MUST do something about the total adorableness that was Steve babysitting Charlie. OMG, so many Daddy!Steve fics in my head!!!!!!! I can see Danny telling him how good a father he'd make, only for him to get that wistful, sad look........ 
> 
> Ok, enough, I'll never finish it all.


End file.
